


Stalemate

by courgette96



Series: Promotion of pawn [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Loki is a mess, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violent Thoughts, mascara alert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courgette96/pseuds/courgette96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't his. This is all for the second Prince of Asgard.</p><p>Loki wants no part of it, and craves it all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stalemate

**Author's Note:**

> No Beta, all mistakes are mine

 His glamour is back in place.

 He stares at his reflection some more.

 His glamour is back in place.

 He brushes his hand against the smooth surface of the mirror, grips its edges.

 His eyes are green once more, his skin the same pale pink it has always been. Except is hasn’t always been so, it had been blue all along, and his eyes were red and everything was a lie, lie lie lielielielie!

 Lie!

 The mirror breaks in a loud crash, his hands clenched in tight fists around broken pieces of the wooden frame. The polished glass shards fall and shatter in a thousand pebbles, littering the floor at his feet.

 He looks straight ahead still, breath heavy and slow. He will not look down, for he has had enough of mirrors and the lies they tell.

 Eyes are the mirrors of the soul, he heard once. He wonders what is to be seen in him. Perhaps if one looks beyond the poisonous green of a liar they will find the blood red of a monster. Perhaps the All-Father only saw the face of his enemy when gazing upon him, perhaps Mother saw the corrupt nature no amount of pretending could cure.

 Not even he is that great of a liar.

 Except tonight, for his glamour is back on and he will act like a proper Aesir at the feast in honor of a prince who never existed. His performance will be brilliant, for although he despises this deception more than any he has ever spoken, he hates the truth even more.

 The door opens, and Frigga queen steps in. She opens her mouth to speak, but falters when she sees the shards all over the floor.

 He refuses to meet her gaze.

 “My Queen,” he bows, “we mustn’t be late.”

 He walks past her as he exits the room, pretending not to hear her call his name.

 

 

 

 “Hail Loki Odinson, worthy son of our King!” Bragi proclaims, since it has been a staggering two minutes since the last cheer.

 “Hail!” the room echoes.

 Loki accepts the acclaim with as much good grace as he can. This means a solemn nod while he barely hold back a sneer. He can feel the weight of Odin’s stare on him. It is remarkably uncomfortable, but he refuses to show it.

 What is Odin pondering right now? Is he thinking of the wasted food for the runt? Is he hoping Loki will be able to continue this streak of Aesir approval?

 He wishes he didn’t care. The All-Father has to put up with the foundling that refused to die, that is his problem. Loki should do as he wish, should not consider the opinion of someone who would have preferred him dead.

 Except…

 He grits his teeth thinking of the conversation he had before the feast started. His fa… Odin had approached him in the antechamber. He had attempted to place a hand on his shoulder, Loki had evaded the gesture. The king frowned, but said nothing about it. Instead, he stated: “After this feast, I would see you in the privacy of my chambers.”

 “Would you now?” Loki had replied. “Why?”

 “We have much to discuss, my son,” Odin says, insisting on the denomination.

 “Do we now? I thought everything was made quite clear.”

 “And I believe it is not so.” The king’s composure is slightly frayed, he looks much weaker than usual. “I would speak to you, Loki, for there are words said but unheard, and words heard but unmeant. This is not the time for such talks, but after this, I ask that I have a lengthy conversation with my son about everything that stands in between us.”

 “I’m afraid I cannot speak on Thor’s behalf,” he says in mock incomprehension. “You will have to ask him directly.”

 The king’s eyes widen slightly at this, his mouth opening just a little. He sighs. “Please, Loki, do not deny me this.”

 He had looked so frail, so tired and wary that Loki’s firm rebuttal stuck itself in his throat. Instead, he had looked away. At that moment, the doors had opened, and it was with much relief that he had walked through them.

 However, just because he left the king does not mean the conversation left him. He goes though it over and over again in his mind.

 The king called him his son. Repeatedly. Could it be…?

 No, he is a liar, it is plain and simple. Since Loki is still breathing, a practical man would find use for him. Odin is merely trying to put him back under his thumb before Loki gets out of hand.

 He is lying, he has to be. It makes no sense otherwise.

 The noise of the banquet hall recalls his attention.

 “Hail Loki Odinson, whose mind has trumped the demon!”

 All it took for recognition was to lay dying of the floor. That is something an Aesir can recognize, a brutal, violent death made a public spectacle. Finally, after all these years, acceptance.

 Those hypocritical sons of whores.

 Decades, centuries, he has put his talents in service of Asgard! He had been clever where others had been brutish, sly to compensate their bluntness, craven and deceitful when their honor-bound ways could not save them! And what had he gotten for it?

 What feasts for the second prince? What songs about his wit and cunning? None at all, for those do not make for good stories, do they? The people cry out for battle and blood, for tails of the mighty Thor with his hammer and his smile and his ever glorious presence and… and…

 He is shacking, he realizes. His entire body is convulsing with barely repressed rage, and it is only the firm grip he has on the table that keeps those around him from noticing.

 Except his mother, who looks at him with barely concealed worry. Delicately, she puts her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to sooth him.

 Without even looking at her, he shakes it off.

 He does not want her comfort ( ~~liar~~ ), or her pity, or their praises and cheers.

 Instead he wants to scream, to stand and flip the table over. He wants to yell at them, those liars, those hypocrites, so selfish and blind. He wants to rip, to tear, to crush everything and everyone. His monstrous nature reasserts itself.

 He revels in a morbid fantasy of walking up to Tyr, one of his more violent detractors and who now toasts with unmatched vigor, ripping his glamor off and making good use of his claws. What chaos is would be, to find a general of the All-Father slaughtered by a Frost Giant, in Odin’s own hall no less! How many would scream, how many would curse, how many would pierce him with their blades, not knowing or not caring that he is (not) their prince?

 He would lay bleeding on the floor again, only this time there would be no lie, only a monster in hideous skin properly slain by dutiful warriors. A work well done.

 The only good Jotun is a dead Jotun.

 But he stays seated, and merely drinks more water as he contemplates different outcomes.

 Would the All-Father be called out on his lie? Would the people rage that such a feast was thrown in honor of a monster?

 Or perhaps the All-Father would lie, as he often does. He would call it a curse, a foul play enacted by the Jotnar, and the people would march onto Jotunheim to avenger their fallen prince.

 In a way, Loki would have made the slaughter of those monsters possible. The thought brings a smile to his face.

 “Enjoying yourself then, Loki? How unexpected!” Fandral asks, walking up to him with a confident swagger that looks much more affected than usual. Next to him is Sif, a much more serious expression on her face.

 Loki nearly jumps in his seat. He hadn’t seen them coming, not at all, and they just sprung up on him. His heart is beating fast, and out of the corner of his eye he is certain he sees black mist and…

 He forces himself to calm down. He is being ridiculous, a fool (a coward). There are only Aesir here, nothing to be frightened about (so long as they do not know the truth). He takes a deep breath, composing himself.

 If his left hand is trembling, he makes no note of it.

 From his chair he looks up at the two warriors. He hasn’t seen them since he had confronted… her. During their last encounter, Fandral had a bleeding shoulder and Sif had been staring at him in shock. Before that, they had been the fools that had thought to defy a rumored witch. They had been the ones that brought that demon here.

 It is their fault that he had to face her.

 Their fault that he nearly died.

 Their fault that when waking up…

 “Is that not what is customary at a feast?” he says with as much coldness as he can muster, trying to get them to leave. He does not wish to talk to them. He usually has no problem in making them avoid his company.

 Instead of leaving in a huff as he expected, Sif merely deepens her frown. Fandral, for his part, raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Yes, indeed. I merely meant that you are usually not one for feasting. On this night even you do not partake as heartily as the rest of us! Why look,” he glances at Loki’s plate,” you have barely eaten at all! Volstagg would shed some tears if he saw!”

 “Volstagg is welcome to my serving. My appetite is weak still, as I have been very recently injured,” he lies smoothly, glaring pointedly at the two. In truth, he had been too busy hating to eat.

 He feels a vicious stab of satisfaction when Fandral starts shifting uncomfortably. “Ah yes…” he coughs in his hand. “Well, I am certain you will be hale before we know it! Completely healed!”

 “Unlikely, I already have a scar,” he states dryly.

 “Ah, but don’t most warriors do?” Fandral is laughing nervously now. This pleases Loki immensely, although not as much as his departure would. “There are many advantages to a scar, do you know? Most Ladies find it incredibly alluring!” His jokes falls flat under Loki’s cold stare.

 “I will keep that in mind. Is there anything you need, Fandral?”

 “Pardon? Oh no!” He protests way too enthusiastically. He has never been the best of liars. “I simply wish to know how you are doing, my friend!”

 “Why are you and your brother avoiding each other?” Sif asks bluntly. She has no patience for deceit today, or maybe she can tell he is not fooled. Either way, he almost appreciates it.

 However, there is still the fact that this is about Thor, again. He bled for them, and they come to talk about Thor. Even beyond that, as far as they are concerned, this is a feast in his honor. That it is entirely unwelcome is beside the point. This is, in all appearances, his night.

 But they come about Thor.

 He snarls. “I am certain I have no idea what you mean.”

 “I am certain you do,” she throws back. “You are usually by your brother’s side during these events. Yet as it is he is drinking on the far end of the table, alone until we joined him. Why?”

 His eyes drift towards Thor without him meaning to. His brother is flanked by Volstagg and Hogun, the two of them trying to get him to look away from his cup. He isn’t even drinking the mead within, merely stares at the beverage with a mix of sadness and loss.

 This makes Loki’s blood boil once more. How dare he? How dare he, when he is the one who ran? How can he possibly…?

 But no, why shouldn’t he run, why shouldn’t he avoid (leave) him? He has been lied to as much as Loki has, except Thor isn’t the monster here. Thor has just lost a brother he thought he had, and oh, of course he would regret having ever associated himself with Loki to begin with.

 But then why is he just drinking? Why is he not cursing him, beating him, spitting on him as he no doubt would any other Jotun? Why, damn him, why does he not act? Why does he not even look at Loki?

Why. Does. He. Not. Acknowledge. Him?!

 Something, anything.

 Why did he go?

 Sif is expecting an answer, he realizes. He keeps his tone flat. “Maybe I have decided not to be by his side at all times anymore. The last instance ended rather poorly, don’t you agree?”

 She stiffens. “It wasn’t Thor’s fault.”

 “No?” He stands, walks to her until their faces are as close as they can be without rousing suspicion. He makes up for the distance with vicious venom in his voice. “Was it not Thor who sought out the beast? Was it not you who followed him so eagerly? So blindly”

 “You came along as well!” she protests.

 “That I did, fool that I am. But when we entered her lodgings, when all you fools could see was a frail women sitting on her chair, I saw more. I saw the truth with talents you are all too dense to appreciate, much less master. And what did you do, when I tried so hard to get you to escape? You ignored, you charged blindly as you always do.”

 “We couldn’t have known, Loki.” She is trembling now, with anger he thinks. She stares straight at him, her gaze oddly rigid and unblinking. “We couldn’t possibly have known, the rumors were clear about it being a mere witch.”

 “Well, if the rumors say so…” he trails off with false amiability.

 “I did not come here to speak of this! Whatever quarrel you have with Thor, you should put behind you! It cannot possibly be justified!”

 “What Sif means,” Fandral cuts in hurriedly, “is that it is a shame for you to be divided, especially after all that has happened. Family is the greatest support, after all.” He finishes with a tentative smile.

 Loki doesn’t have a family. But then again, Frost Giants do not deserve any support. “I see. Your concern is noted. Thank you for your input.”

 That is as clear a dismissal as they will get, which seems to be plenty enough for Fandral. He grabs Sif by the arm, dragging her back. However, before walking away completely, he turns towards Loki one last time. “Um, Loki… what happened in the throne room… I am glad – that is …it is good that you were there,” he finishes lamely.

 Loki watches the two scurry off.

 It barely qualifies as gratitude, it is hardly an apology. One he would never give if he knew….

 He looks around the banquet hall. None of this would be done if the truth were known. All he owns, all he is is due to Odin being trapped in his own lie.

 He is no son of Asgard, no son of Odin, no warrior, no hero, no prince. He is neither worthy, nor deserving, nor honorable, nor accepted.

 If he is loved, it is because he is not known.

 He storms out of the hall.

 

 

 

 “Loki, please!” the All-Mother calls out.

 He wants to ignore her, wants to keep on walking and never look behind, but the anguish in her voice stops his steps.

 Emotions conflict within him. Guilt, sadness, for he has never been able to hurt his Mother without torment. Anger, outrage, for what right has she for heartbreak? What right has the Queen of all, the all-Mother, the _traitor_ for any pain?

 He whips around, eyes hardening. “All-Mother, you should be out celebrating.”

 “So should you, my son, for the feast is held in your honor.” She matches his cold politeness with sad affection.

 He has no use for affection, not now when he burns so. He laughs so as not to scream. “It will be a short affair, then, for I have never had much of that.”

 “You know that is untrue.”

 “Ah, but what faith can I have in what I know? I have lately discovered many erroneous assumptions on my part.” He shakes his head. “No, my Queen, it seems I am to rely on the judgment of your people, who all saw so soon what I was blind to.”

 “And what would that be?”

 “Why, my own monstrosity of course!”

 “No, Loki, no!” She steps forward “You are no monster! The Jotnar…”

 “Are mindless monsters, the bane of Asgard, the scum of Yggdrasil. And I, All-Mother, am the liar, the fiend, the shame of the House of Odin. Blood runs true it seems. It would no doubt have been better that mine remain in a puddle on the throne room’s floor!”

 “Do not say such things!” she nearly screams, before catching herself. She speaks in a murmur next. “Please, my son. I understand your rage, I understand your hurt. But please, do not talk to me about your death. You were lying on the floor, my beautiful, clever boy, and I thought for certain that I would lose you…”

 “But you did,” he says almost casually.

 She recoils, staring at him uncomprehending.

 He elaborates, a magnanimous smile on his face. He puts his hands behind his back so that she does not see his trembling fists. “The second prince died on that day, in what he thought was a battle of his choosing but was really nothing more than a public execution! What came back is the monster that escaped slaughter, the shameful secret you tried so hard to deny, the beast you could only love by hiding its face! You heard them, All-Mother, you heard the songs of valiance and slaying. Look upon that banquet hall, and you will see thousands eager to right a terrible wrong by stabbing me in the heart anew! And oh, I think I would let them!”

 “Loki!” she protests again.

 But he isn’t listening, cannot stop the words from pouring out. “Was it not Odin who laid waste to Jotunheim? Was it not Thor who vowed to rid Yggdrasil of Jotnar and their filth? How I longed to be like them, how I still yearn for scraps of glory I now know will forever be denied!” He laughs, sounding mad and not caring. “I have thought about how I would do it, do you know? I thought for certain that the title of Giant-Slayer would trump the dishonor of my ways. How I planned, how I dreamed! And like the monster I am, I was very creative in the ways of killing.”

 He looks at her with wild eyes, staring straight into her horrified face. “Even now, All-Mother, I would do the deed if you let me. I would march and set Jotunheim aflame, that I may throw myself into its pyre. Odin’s pawn would have some use after all.”

 “A pawn?” She blanches. “No, Loki, you are wrong, that isn’t…”

 “Do not lie to me, All-Mother! You have done so far too long already!” She flinches violently at his shout. “Do not think me more of a fool than I am. He told me himself, when I was still tied to the bed like a rabid dog! He told me of his plans for the spawn of Laufey, of peace through an otherwise useless runt! But what use have I now? Laufey has two sons, both of which he chose to keep. My br-” he swallows, “Thor will no longer have me, not even in the shadow you all saw fit to put me in. The All-Father cannot use me as he wishes. He is stuck playing the charade of a King and his son. My existence has become an inconvenience to him!”

 “Loki, my love, please try to calm down.” His mother lungs forward, grabbing his arm. “I am so sorry for our mistakes, so sorry to see you so hurt. But your Father…”

 “He is not my Father!” He yells at the top of his lungs, jerking his arm so violently the Queen goes stumbling back.

 He looks at her, wide-eyed. He hadn’t meant for such an outburst. The room is silent as they stare at each other.

 “Am I not your Mother?” she whispers. Her face is calm, even bearing a faint smile. The only detail betraying her hurt is the slight shine in her eyes.

 She is beautiful, he thinks distantly. Tall and golden, patient and kind. Always loving towards her boys, always comforting in times of pain.

 He is ugly, he knows. Dark and twisted, vicious and cruel. He hurt her, both voluntarily and not, and even knowing this he cannot muster an apology.

 She is glorious and he is wretched.

 How could he ever claim himself her son?

 “No, no you are not.”

 He exhales and turns around, so that he doesn’t have to look upon her face. He walks away, confident that she will not follow.

 He has had enough of painful truths.

 

 

 

 Finally, the noise has died down.

 It has been around three hours since Loki left the feast, yet it still went strong without the guest of honor. The Aesir obviously do not care that their excuse for over drinking and eating is gone, so long that they can keep going. Or they hadn’t noticed he had left at all.

 He doesn’t care.

 He has his own drink in his hand, some elfish liquor he had won in a bet a few centuries back. A precious thing, only to be consumed during the most special occasions, with care and reserve.

 Loki plans on getting so absolutely drunk that he’ll not even be capable of walking. Of going to meet with Odin…his fa… him.

 He is quite familiar with avoidance techniques, but this new one he has come up with trumps all the preceding ones in patheticness. This is the way of a man that refuses to face reality, a weak lonely thing drinking alone in his room instead of in the company of others, a coward’s way out.

 Loki has always been a coward by Aesir standards. Avoiding confrontation if possible, but not out of any sort of pacifism. Tricking people into doing battles for him, using underhanded ways. Stacking the odds in his favor long before the game has started. He even has little problem with running away if the situation turns dire. No matter how much he fantasized about a glorious funeral, when the time came for a choice he always thought to preserve his own life at any cost.

 The one time he had chosen to ignore an escape opportunity….

 With a snarl, he throws his cup against the wall. It shatters, and he watches the precious liquid drip slowly to the ground. He should never have bothered with honor, with altruism or self-sacrifice. Had he known his true nature then, he would have been aware such things are not for him.

 One act as an As, one foolishly noble deed, and what had he gotten for it? An absolute confirmation that he could never be Aesir.  A brother who hates him, a mother who fears him, a father who has never been a father at all! Oh, how could they do this to him? How could they just leave, why are they not here with him? But why would they come? He is a freak, a monster and a disappointment, and he hates them and he wants them back!

 But they were never his to begin with.

 He runs his hands down his face. It all makes so much sense now, how Thor was always favored. He isn’t their son. He is despised by the Aesir. It’s because he is a Frost Giant.

 Everything makes perfect sense.

 So why does Odin say he misunderstood?

 How could Loki be wrong, when it all fits together so perfectly? How, when after searching for so long for a reason why he was so unloved, he finally has it?

 Will Odin take that away from him as well? Or maybe…

 No, no he cannot start hoping. He has learned not to, refuses to be burned again.

 But perhaps…

 He growls in frustration. He is such a needy, pathetic thing! Odin wishes him dead! He said so himself! Why doubt?

 Life could never be so kind to him.

 He is still pacing when someone knocks urgently on the door. Frowning, he roughly pulls it open, barking at the guard behind it. “What?!”

 “Apologies, my Prince!” The guard is young, and slightly frantic. “But the Queen has requested your presence in her chambers.”

 “Has she now?” Why does she come after him still? “What in the realms…”

 “The All-Father has fallen into the Odinsleep.”

 He freezes. “Pardon?”

 “It hit him quite suddenly after the feast. The healers are not worried for now, but it was all quite sudden. The Queen has called for you and Prince Thor.”

 “I see.” He feels oddly detached. “Thank you, I will be there shortly.”

 “My Prince,” the man bows, and leaves.

 Slowly Loki closes the door, and rests his head against the smooth wood.

 Odin has fallen into the Odinsleep.

 It could last for months.

 He hasn’t said what he wanted to say to Loki.

 He feels like crying. He hadn’t know if he had wanted to go, hadn’t decided, but to have the choice ripped from him…

Tears escape his eyes. He cannot deal with this, the doubt, the certitudes, he isn’t strong enough, he isn’t…

 Thor will be made king.

 The thought hits him like a bolt of lightning. He had been almost crowned so very recently, and he is next in the line of succession. He will be King, or at least regent until Odin awakes.

 He starts laughing. Hysterically.

 A month ago, he would have known how things would go. Thor on the throne, Loki by his side, the advisor to the hot-headed but honorable king. A month ago, he would have suffered with ill-grace as his brother floundered through his first years, but staid true because it would have been his brother and his home that would be on the line. A month ago he would have played the part they all knew had been a long time coming.

 Now though! Now Thor will have nothing to do with him, Loki hates all of Asgard and nothing, nothing can be alright. He could never be the advisor, not anymore. Not a Jotun.

 But he’ll have to, he realizes. His breath starts speeding up. He’ll have to, because the lie is still strong, the people do not know they only have one prince, and the House of Odin could not reveal the truth. Not now, when an untried King will be ruling and it will have to remain strong. Appearances will have to be kept, and he’ll be once again in the shadow, only it is worse now because this shadow could choke him rather than merely conceal him and Norns he will be trapped!

 He’ll have to stay, and stand next to Thor, and what if his brother cannot bear it? What if it is an insult to great, what will Loki do then? He will not be able to leave Asgard, not without rousing suspicion, and Norns! What if someone else were to find out?

 Thor could let it slip, carelessly or uncaring. People would know, and they would not forgive. They will attack him, and he knows he’ll fight no matter how much he wants to let them. They will overwhelm him though, he’ll be cornered one day in the halls and no one would come for him. Thor will not care. Frigga will be too busy by Odin’s bedside. He will die alone on the ground (again), and he wants to die but not to be killed. Not like that.

 Or maybe they will never know, but he’ll still have to stay, and rule over those people he despises now. In the throne room all the time, in that same room he saw her and her eyes and every day the sport where he laid dying, every day staring at the place where the chessboard once stood. He cannot go back there, can hardly bear the thought! He can picture it now, crowds of petitioners like the crowd surrounding him as he died, and he can feel the stab wound in his heart again, his blood is pounding in his ears and he just. Cannot. Breathe!

 He cannot, cannot do this, he isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough. He cannot be Thor’s brother, cannot be his adviser, does not want to, has to, must, will not and why is the room spinning?

 He catches himself to the wall. Thor will be made king, and he will be trapped here, to die in the hall or before the throne or he will be caught in the lie he can no longer believe, and Norns, he can not!

 He cannot go to Frigga and seal his fate, cannot stay in his chambers or else he’ll be dragged there. There is no place in Asgard he can hide, he can not he can not hecannothecannothecannot!

 He cannot stay in Asgard.

 He’ll be destroyed if he does.

 He’ll be forsaking his duties. Abandoning his King. Frigga will advise him. It will be better that way. He has no place here, he cannot stay.

 Mother has called for him, she’ll make due with her real son. He’ll never know what Odin said. He’ll never hurt by finding out.

 They’ll be coming for him soon if he doesn’t hurry. He needs to go, needs to leave.

 He has nowhere to go.

 Where is home?

 Blinking through his tears, he feels the fabric of Yggdasil. There is a gateway in his room. He created it.

 Without a sound, he slips into the passages between realms.

 

 

 

 Frigga enters the room, and finds nothing but a broken glass on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> From Wikipedia: "Stalemate is a situation in the game of chess where the player whose turn it is to move is not in check but has no legal move". From Loki's perspective, leaving is the only option he has. However, it can easily be viewed as weak, dishonorable and cowardly, hence it is in defiance of the tacit laws set by the Aesir.
> 
> About the Warrior 4: I usually don't want to explain character motivations, but I'll make an exception for this one. Basically, they feel guilty as fuck. They screwed up, majorly, and because of that, Asgard was almost lost. Loki saved them and almost died. Why don't they just apologize and say thank you? Guilt, and not knowing how to face it. They deal in different ways. Fandral is way to awkward, Sif gets too defensive (even though she really couldn't have known).  
> Also, Loki is being an angry mess that purposefully makes things worse for everyone.
> 
> So, that's it for the series, FOR NOW. I actually have part five already planned. It will be multi-chaptered, I have the plot all figured out, I'm very excited. However, there is no way I'll be able to handle two WIP at once. One of them is bound to suffer. So, since I started "In winter's care" first, I'll focus on that one. Part 5 of this series will be a side project, one I won't post until I know I can handle two long-fics. Sorry if there are any disappointments!


End file.
